


In The Nookery

by Arithanas



Series: What friends are for? [2]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Erotolalia, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, PWP, Pre-Book(s), Tight Spaces, What friends are for?, sinship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1621, Paris. Escaping from their posts has some unexpected consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Nookery

Athos, in Porthos’ eyes, was the best companion he could hope for; even his worst fault — his disinterest in beautiful women — was an advantage; did that mean it was easy to deal with him? Hell, no! He was crazy and saying that's being kind, but he was awesome in his insanity. One just had to become accustomed to expect the unexpected and to let you being carried away.

Luckily, Porthos had plenty of that ability that appeared to be scarce in the Musketeers corps. So, both of them became inseparable, even in M. de Treville’s mind. That was a problem because, to keep them both under control, they always ended up together, standing in guard in the hallways. Not shoulder to shoulder, the captain felt that it was ‘putting the gunpowder by the fire’, but they were busy at the same time, although later both were free at the same time. May God protect Paris from those two!

The king held one ball that night and the guests didn’t want to be late, that is why all arrived early; and, for entertainment, all requested audience with His Majesty. Porthos was bored in the king’s anteroom, as Athos, still drunk as a skunk, displayed a martial bearing in the hallway. As the courtiers began to fill the space, the intoxicating scent of perfume, unwashed bodies, and road dust made hard to breathe inside these rooms. That allowed a study of the latest fads, but Porthos felt that his patience was wearing thin, especially because he grew tired of receiving so many blows to the ribs and of being stamped on. The next unfortunate soul that annoy him...

“Looks like you need a break, Porthos,” said a familiar voice at his side.

“It seems that you forgot which was your post, Athos,” he said trying to be discreet, that meant he had almost shouted, but among so many people, it was difficult to hear.

“You are my responsibility until you learn the ropes,” his fellow musketeers didn’t even look at him, “Will you take a rest or not?”

“We must not desert our post,” Porthos replied. He still remembered the last reprimand the captain gave them and he didn’t want another helping.

“My friend, I know you feel like the heart of divine creation, but, do you really think that someone will notice your absence in the middle of this swarm?”¶

How could Porthos deny something to his friend when Athos requested it in such a way?

***

Athos had guided him through the wide corridors of the Louvre, without speaking or looking at his friend. Porthos suspected that the other Musketeer was at the level of drunkenness that encouraged him to break the rules, but not to seek for a scuffle. Luckily, no one found it strange to see two musketeers walking through the palace, there were enough of them making the rounds for them to blend with the background unnoticed.

“Although I appreciate the promenade, Athos, I think we are moving too far away.”

“Humor me, Porthos, I assure you it worth the trouble.”

“I can hear the laughter in your voice; you are planning to get us in hot water!”

“Piss up a rope, Porthos... When did I get you into a mess that I cannot get you out?”

“Where do we go then?”

“To Queen Mother’s wing,” Athos responded with ease, as if it was the most natural thing to do in such situation.

“And what do we lost there?”

“It’s not about what we lost, but about what we can find.”

“Did I mention that I hate when you make riddles?”

“Just shut up!”

As indicated, Porthos closed his mouth and began to wonder how he could do to return to his place before the captain or the lieutenant realized his absence. Be Musketeer was a great opportunity and he didn’t see that advantage was in ruin it to follow Athos in his wildest purposes. Suddenly, Porthos realized he no longer heard Athos’ footsteps. The Picard groaned and turned around, sure I was left alone in a part of the palace unknown to him and felt the desire to shake his friend until the effects of alcohol were spent, but Athos only had stopped in the hallway, next to a tapestry representing St. Martin, his right hand was behind the heavy cloth and his left hand made the sign to come closer as he realized that Porthos looked at him. As his friend approached, Athos opened a door behind the arras.

“Get inside.”

“What?”

“Shut your yap, Porthos, or we get in serious troubles here,” Athos ordered, pointing to the interior. “I’ll explain it all, you have my word.”

***

 Porthos found himself in a small room with a high skylight to let in the dim light of dusk, and rough brick walls were covered with a thin layer of plaster. Athos closed the passage behind him and closed the latch, ensuring that no one could open the door from the outside. In the shadows his face was quite favored, as the light highlighted his cheekbones, his straight nose and that rotund jawline; his blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

“You are at a historic site, my dear Porthos,” Athos began to explain, his voice was so low that Porthos had to lower the head, fully aware that they were real close. “This nookery was made expressly by the great King Francis to spy on Mademoiselle d'Heilly... or so I was told.”

“No...” Porthos was awed, but not awe-struck enough to restrain his curiosity. “Who told you that?”

“Someone who had a debt with me, and felt that I could benefit from this particular view of the chamber of queen's maids,” Athos said, shrugging.

“I daresay that person didn’t know you.”

Porthos’ face betrayed how hard he tried not to laugh. Athos managed to suppress a frown. The person who shared the secret knew him even better than Porthos. He had liked the nookery since he knew of it: the enclosed space gave him a pleasant feeling of isolation, having all the walls within reach gave him security and made worthwhile the slightly warmer atmosphere. It was... nice. Sometimes he wished to have a room like that in Rue Férou.

“Could be, but my loss is your gain,” Athos said, leaning on a wall and pointing to a horizontal crack with suspiciously well-defined edges. “Be my guest...”

The large Musketeer bent over and his eye tried to spy on right through the opening. On the other side of the wall was a bright room, the smell of perfume and talcum filtered through the hole and the sound of youthful laughter could be barely heard. Before his eyes a treasure of tender skin and firm flesh was exposed, while the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting were preparing themselves for the ball. It was true. He separated himself from the wall and looked at his comrade, completely surprised, but Athos didn’t take it personally and leaned against the false wall, as if trying to have a nap.

While his friend was amusing himself, Athos enjoyed isolation, but the experience was different, now that Porthos shared the small space. For starters, his body radiated heat that he had never felt in that room; the vicinity of his body was making him sweat. The situation was not improved by the fact that they had not enough room and he could feel his arm rubbing against his side. Being in close contact with another man didn’t bothered Athos — service at sea had been responsible for numbing his need for personal space, except for some occasional bouts —, but perspiration was a problem. Athos put his left hand under his tunic coat and began to untie the laces, to relieve the heat. It was a shame not to be able take off his uniform, but there was no place to keep it safe. Before he could get his hand from his clothes, Porthos' hand fell on his shoulder, and grasped his tunic.

“Athos...” his friend call out, in a genuine whisper, something that Athos didn’t believe him was able to produce.

“What is it?” asked in the same fashion.

“One of them is nude among the others...” Porthos reported, without leaving his place.

“Well...” Athos was about to drop a caustic comment, but Porthos didn’t allow him.

“I can see her backside... cute buns, long hair”

“Blondie?” The question left his lips before he could hold it.

“No, brunette... she has long, curly, dark hair...”

Athos leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, he didn’t trust women but he still found some pleasure in the image of their bodies, and Porthos was being excellent in the work of establishing the best features of that beautiful, noble lady who served the Queen, giving him only the barest details to arouse him. His hand slid on his belly and his fingers caressed the bulge that began to grow under his breeches.

“Go on...” Athos whispered. He had already abandoned the idea of silencing Porthos.

“She just got out of the tub, she is all wet...”

“Oh...” Athos moaned, remembering how many time he saw his wife out of the tub. His fingers were busy untying his breeches with an almost immoral speed.

“Two young ones rub her to dry her off... they caress her with a powder puff...” Porthos commented to his friend, the relation was interspersed in his heavy breathing. “Between her shoulder blades, and her narrow waist, and between her buttocks!” Porthos managed to emphasize without raising his voice. “Athos, I want to be a puff!”

“Me too... go on!” Athos urged, eyes closed, fingers around the shaft.

The urgency in his voice tore Porthos from his observation post and he eyed his companion with indescribable strangeness. Athos felt the weight of his gaze and turned his head to look at his friend. For a few seconds, they shared a look of discomfort, before Athos averted his eyes in shame, and leaned his weight on the false wall.

“You are enjoying yourself...” Porthos said with a tone of fun and wonder.

Is that too odd?” Athos asked, wondering how he would take his hand from his breeches without made Porthos aware of it.

“Coming from you? Of course!”

“Hush!”

The movement was sudden and unplanned: Athos put his hands on Porthos’ shoulders for emphasis and both ended up face to face. Under the dim light, both looked shocked at each other when, between layers of fabric, noted the hardness that came in contact with their bellies; both tried to split up, but the wall was too close behind them. That really silenced the pompous musketeer.

“Let’s don’t panic,” Athos whispered, fighting his own embarrassment. “I’ll go...”

Porthos realized that his friend was pale except for two large spots of blush; an image that he thought it was not possible. It passed through his mind the idea that it was a really long time since Athos got some and, being who he was, it was hard to admit that he needed it.

“Stay,” Porthos requested, trying to control the laughter that was brewing inside him. “We have unfinished business.”

Porthos’ big hand pushed him against the wall. Athos felt the anxiety leaving his body, as his friend disregarded him to return to the improvised peephole.

“Aww... they have already powdered her front...” Porthos took up his narrative, in a hushed tone.

Disappointment was evident, and duly noted. Athos smiled and closed his eyes, trying to get the picture, but it was difficult, his wife was all that came to his mind, and excitement was beginning to wane.

“She has a nice clean cunt, Athos, with lot of curly hair, and that rack!” The rustle of the clothes indicated that Porthos was getting a hold on himself. “These jigglers are too big to fit in my hand...”

Athos grunted appreciatively, his wife was a bit short of that resource and he had always appreciated a good pair. He was getting hard again and tried to jerk the rope, but Porthos’ elbow on his ribs prevented it. For the first time, he found himself cursing enclosed spaces. Porthos realized it and tried to settle but there was not enough room. Frustration was tangible.

“Wait!” Porthos muttered, passing his hand over his friend's waist. “I scratch your itch and you scratch mine...”

“Where did you get that idea?” He asked, not knowing if he was impressed by Porthos’ resources or outraged by his proposal.

“I was raised in the country...” said the other, putting his hand under the tunic coat. “Don’t ask!”

Athos decided against it and took out his handkerchief from his sleeve, as Porthos certainly would not want a milky spot on his uniform. Gropingly, Athos put the fabric over his friend’s hard pole; Porthos got a firm hold on his friend’s shaft and kneaded it absentmindedly.

“What is happening?” Athos asked while enjoying the caress.

“A young one is painting her nipples...” Porthos was a little distracted by what Athos’ hand was doing under his robe; the fine, wet linen against his skin was a whole new sensation. “It’s a bright orange color.”

“Must be saffron...” Athos replied, remembering the high born courtesan that gave the final touches to his love-making technique.

“How do you know?”

“I was breed in the city... Don’t ask and keep telling!”

“You keep rubbing...” Porthos said, devoting his attention to the sight. “The brush is dipped in the mix and then caresses the nipple and areola ... this little bit is getting hard...”

“Humm...” it was all the answer Porthos got, Athos was busy fantasizing about how that seasoned nipple would feel in his mouth.

“She arches her back and laughs... A little bit faster, Athos!”

Athos did his best to please his friend; it was a sure way to keep the narrative flowing, although his knees were starting to give in at the nice, though rough, handling of his friend. Porthos was having trouble keeping up with describing the scene, Athos' fingers were playing a march on his hardness, stimulating his arm of love in a very different way from what he was accustomed and Porthos’ seed was bubbling inside his nuts.  
  
“She laughs... and shakes her twin lovelies... one of her friends grabs the teat and comes close to the nipple... Oh, God!”

The musketeer leaned his head against his friend’s shoulder, grunting. Athos closed his eyes and continued stroking Porthos while he was having his little convulsion of joy and spilled himself into his handkerchief though he suspected that the game was almost over and he was still far from his own sweet agony. Half a loaf is better than none, he said to himself philosophically as he held his fainting friend.

“That was a big one...” Porthos said, a little later, while arranging his clothes.

“I can tell...” Athos was folding his handkerchief and securing it within the doublet.

“Yours?”

A glance was enough to know. Porthos knelt in front of his friend, lifting the hem of the tunic. The movement pushed Athos to the corner.

“I'll take care.”

“You don’t have to...”

“I’m just being grateful,” Porthos stated placing Athos’ leg over his arm. “Besides, I have no kerchief...”

Athos did not answer, even on his knees, Porthos lifted him an inch from the floor and he had to use his hands on the wall to steady himself.

“Should I stop?” Porthos asked, noting that his friend’s body was stiff as a board.

Athos was going to ask him to stop, but Porthos’ breath in his crotch made him doubt that resolution. He always had a soft spot for someone who can get dirty knees for him. It was a pity that the tunic did not let him see him how Porthos took care of this hard one, but maybe that was for the best, he would be free to concentrate on sensations at that moment and think about the consequences later.

“Only if you want to...”

Porthos would congratulate himself later for having guessed right; for the moment, he wanted to have the pleasure of a taste of his friend, something he had promised himself to do if Athos gave him the slightest chance. His hand grasped Athos’ thigh and put his mouth on that swollen cock before his eyes. The first lick let him savor the salty and ripe taste of that skin. He could not help but to feel aroused again.

Athos quivered and gasped when his most sensitive part entered into his friend’s mouth. It was so wet, slick and hot... Porthos technique was unlike anything he had experienced before, because instead of moving his head like everyone else do, he used his tongue and throat to pull the hard member. The maneuver was a bit rough, but definitively enjoyable. With eyes closed, head resting on the corner of two walls, Athos poured out his pleasure in his friend's eager throat.

***

Return to their posts was a strange experience; neither of them stood to see the other in the eye. Once the stifling atmosphere was vanished and their lower impulses were satisfied, neither of them knew how to react. They walk side by side, towards the posts they had been assigned, taking great pains in leaving more than two steps between them. This uncomfortable situation could not continue for too long. Porthos broke the silence before they reached the royal antechamber.

“Athos...”

“I didn’t plan it, Porthos,” the musketeer interrupted, his eyes made not the attempt to find his comrade, “I apologize if that was an inconvenience.”

“Not at all, I gave you a hand, sort to speak...” Porthos was struggling to explain it. “And you did for me what I did for you...”

“Try not to remind me that I took the lion's share, please.”

“You didn’t take anything I didn’t offer,” the Picard protested and shrugged. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Athos stopped short. Porthos look at him, confused.

“I was worried that something else was over.”

“If you can’t ask a helping hand from your friends, who can you ask for it?”

“Thank you, Porthos.”

Athos extended his hand; his eyes didn’t reflect any conflict behind them, only a quiet gratitude. Porthos smiled and took the hand, pressing it firmly. The handshake was very natural, both had left the issue behind and what happened became another youthful escapade.

“I must return to my post,” said Porthos, with a big smile.

“I’ll buy you a drink when we’re done,” replied Athos with a nod.


End file.
